


Time and time again.

by Allegory



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Bitter, Gen, Hunter x Hunter - Freeform, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kurapika - Freeform, Leorio - Freeform, M/M, Sad, Self-Harm, TW: Self Harm, esp since this hurts him more than kura, gon freecs - Freeform, hxh - Freeform, killua - Freeform, leopika - Freeform, more like, not really but friendship wise I guess, trigger warning, well Leorio is trying ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegory/pseuds/Allegory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurapika hides them well. He has an excuse—his chains are biting into his skin too often, and so he dresses them in bandages. He is meticulous with the secret; Kurapika cleans up, applies ointment, and checks for infection when he is alone.</p><p>So how did this happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and time again.

Kurapika doesn’t imagine that anyone would find out.

It’s a private thing. It’s something he does after a day of digging fingernails in flesh, red veins rooting around his eyes, a film of dampness in both. It’s when the red peeks through his black contacts, when his chains rattle like a dead man coming back to life.

He doesn’t know how to cope. All his life, anger has been his closest companion—but when that anger is turned inward, when he thinks to himself: _what have I done? How am I no different from the spiders?_

That is when Kurapika breaks.

His anger shows in a rather predictable way. He hits things. Breaks things. He attacks everything inanimate around him, and worst of all, he attacks himself—he realizes the thousand splinters of glass, the toppled furniture, the ripped curtains are not enough. Kurapika smashes into the concrete walls, over and over until he can no longer smother his grunts of pain.

Eventually, he falls over, head spinning. Beneath him are various shards, a kaleidoscope of light in the dark room, biting into his legs and arms. Kurapika claws a handful of sharp fragments, clenches his fist and lets blood trickle down his wrist, lets it ooze through the gaps.

Euphoria. The sight of his own blood makes his heart thud harder and a chill travel up his spine. Coupled with the raw pain in the rest of his body, a great weight lifts from his shoulders. He forgets, briefly, of what has enraged him and focuses on the stinging of his palm.  
  


* * *

 

  
Kurapika hides them well. He has an excuse—his chains are biting into his skin too often, and so he dresses them in bandages. He is meticulous with the secret; Kurapika cleans up, applies ointment, and checks for infection when he is alone. Things are okay. He is gifted in maintaining this calm, measured guise, accessorized with a few half-smiles.

So how did this happen?

Leorio stands before him now, Kurapika’s overcoat shed and his bruised arms exposed. The hallway is long and vast, fluted pillars travelling down his sides, a lightless chandelier above them. It is truly a big mansion; but at the moment, the walls feel like they are caving in, heat sears the back of his neck and bile—or are those his words?—are stuck in his throat. Air seeps quickly through the apertures and Kurapika feels light-headed, on the verge of fainting.

Then, he gets a reassuring pat on his head. He looks up, face ridden with shock and confusion, and Leorio is biting his lip, his chest heaving laboriously with stifled emotions. He doesn’t say anything. When Leorio’s fingers leave the dry, yellow strands of his hair, he bends down, collects the coat and carefully puts it over the shorter boy.

Kurapika exhales—a breathless, hitched sigh of defeat.

At least, that’s what it sounds like. It’s not. It’s a sigh of appreciation, and Leorio seems to understand that. As a matter of fact, Leorio understands a lot more about him than Kurapika does of himself. Even in this situation, even after discovering the black and blue patches on his pasty skin, Leorio cares more for Kurapika than the agony in his chest.

The sunny lamp lights cast shadows over them as Leorio guides him—not roughly, but not delicately, either—to Kurapika's room by the corner.

“It’s fine, Kurapika. It’s okay. I’ll see you in the morning, alright?”

Kurapika nods and hums an agreement. He tries to pretend this is a normal conversation, but that’s as much as he can muster. Leorio doesn’t push him.  When the door closes between them, Kurapika slides down, his back against hard wood as he curls up and wraps around himself.  
  


* * *

  
Dawn is obtrusive. Kurapika wakes to a burning orange light in the horizon, a window pane stretched out by the far end of the room. He remembers a familiar sight—he and Leorio, sitting in a café, just catching up with each other as midday melted over the city. He remembers the bitter scent of coffee, sweets, enamored brown eyes and the constant whirring of a machine. Soft whispers and quiet chuckles linger in his ears.

They are like the shriek of banshees.

Kurapika wants to hurt himself again. This time for a very new reason. He is not angry. It is guilt that is consuming him, that is eating away at his sanity. How could he have been so clumsy? To have just _hoped_ no one would see him, that everyone would be too busy in the gala to realize he had gone to throw himself against the restroom walls.

Now Leorio knows. He acts stupid, but he most certainly is not. And he is, for all intents and purposes, a doctor. Kurapika can’t bluff his way out of this. Just the idea of it is enough to make him laugh.

Kurapika stops feeding the temptation. He busies his mind by dressing. He skips the mirror—he knows that if he looks, he won’t garner the courage to leave his room—and wears the usual long-sleeved clothes. From his travel bag, he pulls out a new roll of bandages and changes those around his hands. All the while, the fresh blotches on his body ache and throb. Kurapika has always taken comfort in the aftermath, but not today.

Today, the pain is just pain.

They meet sometime later. It is a part of his act—Kurapika is still, subconsciously, trying to pretend that everything is normal. Leorio is playing along, but for a different cause: he wants to make Kurapika comfortable. As comfortable as he can get with each accidental glance, each time Gon directs conversation to the two of them.

Killua gets the hint, of course, and quite swiftly to his credit. In a minute he is strolling down the stairs with Gon, the two of them talking about gummy bears and chocolate bars. The older pair is still standing at the same spot. None of them speak until the footsteps of the children are gone.

“The weather is good, Kurapika. Let’s go out.”

It’s not a request and Kurapika doesn’t have the guts to decline anyway. They leave the mansion, walk through the busy streets of Yorkshin city, breathing in the gas and exhaust of vehicles. Kurapika does not know where they are going but for whatever reason feels at ease with all the hectic activity. He feels inconspicuous, invisible, safe.

Leorio lets him indulge in it until they reach a familiar spot in the city. It’s the café, closed on the Sunday morning. It’s the one they met in several months ago, before the stress of searching for the eyes caught up to him and Kurapika became enslaved to the addiction.

Remorse washes over him again. He wants to disappear, but the area is too quiet and small. There is only the distant honking of cars, nostalgic whispers and laughter taunting him.

Leorio leans against the wall outside, on the left of the entrance. After a moment of hesitation, Kurapika does the same, but on the right. Their view is of a plain brick wall, a drainage system running the length of the street ledge, mottled greys and browns molding together.

“You don’t need to explain anything,” Leorio says, eyes planted on the wall. Kurapika hangs his head down, arms resting behind him. He stays quiet.

“You are your own man, Kurapika. You deserve to make your own decisions—you always have. But…if, for once, you could just consider this. Just, maybe think about it. Because the world has hurt you enough. It really has.”

“Thank you.”

His words are barely audible, but it hangs in the thick air between them. Those words, or rather the lack of them, mean everything. Leorio knows, at that moment, that Kurapika is not going to stop. That when they part ways again, Kurapika is going to continue channeling his anger into physical pain, and he could well end up in a hospital when the pressure becomes too much to bear.

But for the moment, at least, they are standing together, and Leorio still has delusions of changing that.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry Leorio is OOC. A self-indulgent piece.


End file.
